


Cold Feet

by Ahmerst



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Mink's good route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:05:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahmerst/pseuds/Ahmerst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mink’s bed has always been too big for just one, so he doesn’t mind when it becomes a bed for two. He doesn’t even mind that the second occupant has a chronic case of cold feet in the morning, or that he insists on warming them against Mink’s skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Feet

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy howdy, another ficlet from a tumblr prompt. I think I finished all the ones I was up to, so I may take more in the near future when I'm able to.

Mink’s bed has always been too big for just one, so he doesn’t mind when it becomes a bed for two. He doesn’t even mind that the second occupant has a chronic case of cold feet in the morning, or that he insists on warming them against Mink’s skin.

And he only minds in the slightest when that second body rustles under the covers when he stirs at dawn, huddling closer and grunting in that way that means it’s too cold. It’s not that he’s awake as he makes the noise, but balanced carefully in the limbo of slumber.

Mink rolls over in bed to face Aoba when the icy soles against his calves push him over into the realm of wakefulness, and he lifts the covers to look at the curled up form that’s been dozing behind him.

Mink’s never been one to think of the positions of those who sleep together in terms of little spoons or big spoons, and he wouldn’t call Aoba his ‘big spoon.’ Aoba’s not a spoon at all.

He’s more a kind of entity that exists outside of Mink, unrelated but still beneficial.

Maybe this is how water buffaloes think of the birds that perch on them.

And Aoba is his little bird in that manner, something small and active that looks after him. Something he doesn’t need, but something he’s grown used to. Something he wants to keep around.

Aoba shifts in his sleep as Mink watches him, the cold air that seeps beneath the raised blanket stirring him. He eases from his side until he’s on his back, one hand reaching up his shirt, rucking the fabric as he scratches at the softness of his pale belly.

His legs spread as he sighs, and Mink can’t help but let his eyes wander. The tie on the waistband of Aoba’s shorts is a tangled knot from his shifting in the night, and the hems of his bottoms ride up in wrinkled waves until the uppermost flesh of Aoba’s thighs is exposed.

Nothing about his outfit is conducive to a warm sleep, and it’s been months since Mink made a mental note to pick up something better. Thermal bottoms and a heavy top, a reasonable outfit for the months of winter cold ahead.

Another quilt on the bed wouldn’t hurt, either.

But looking at Aoba now, from the locks of his hair that fan out against the pillow to the heavy outline beneath the thin fabric of his shorts, it’s hard for Mink to motivate himself to cover a single inch of that with more clothing.

Wool socks, he thinks, as he watches Aoba’s toes curl, a mild whine escaping his throat. He can give Aoba at least that.

He decides this not because he wants entirely to get them, but because Aoba seems still convinced there is a sliver of goodness in him. And maybe there is, something small but there, alive as a tree’s core as rotting bark peels away.

Perhaps it’s more subtle, though; a snake shedding its skin a hundred times as it grows and changes. Something he won’t come to notice for a long time.

But maybe in the end, he’ll buy socks because those cold feet will be the death of him, and an early death is no longer something that burns as a great desire in him. And as Aoba rolls onto his side to face Mink, body sluggishly inching closer to the nearest source of warmth it can find, Mink’s greatest desire is to hold Aoba close in a way he’s never held anyone before.

It’s a desire within reach, and as he gathers Aoba to himself, feels the way his slight body moves even in slumber to fit against his, one that won’t ebb any time soon.


End file.
